


Harry and Draco's Little Talk

by Ladderofyears



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror Harry Potter, HD Domesticity Fest 2021, Happy Ending, Harry Gets The Wrong End Of The Broomstick, M/M, Mentions of morning sickness, Mild Angst On Harry's Part, Mpreg, Oblivious Harry Potter, Pregnant Draco Malfoy, Relieved Harry, Reminiscing, Squabbling, Worried Harry Potter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-17 22:48:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28732977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladderofyears/pseuds/Ladderofyears
Summary: Harry is holed up at work, avoiding the moment that he has to leave. His boyfriend, Draco Malfoy, had been argumentative and moody for weeks and now he wants to have a 'little talk' over dinner. Does this mean the end of their love affair or has Harry got the wrong end of the broomstick?
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 11
Kudos: 397
Collections: HD Domesticity Fest





	Harry and Draco's Little Talk

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Erebeus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Erebeus/gifts).



> Thank you for making my day, Erebeus. 💞

Harry Potter looked down at the files littering his desk.

He’d been sat there most of the afternoon, but the pile didn’t seem to be lessening. If anything, the parchment folders seemed only to be growing in number. He sighed and sipped his coffee. It was already stone cold, but Harry drank it anyway and didn’t bother with a warming charm. Cold and sour suited his current mood only too well.

The truth was, Harry Potter – idol of the wizarding world, holder of a First-Class Order of Merlin and well known Saviour – was hiding away, pretending to himself a DMLE case audit was a necessary part of his day.

It wasn’t.

Really, Harry was avoiding leaving the office. He was sidestepping going home.

Harry was dodging Draco.

Harry knew that if he left the office, he’d have no choice but to walk down to the Ministry Atrium and make his way to the nearest Floo Point. When he arrived there, he’d have no choice except to go to Draco’s Artemisia Lane Apartment. Draco was making him dinner and – in boyfriend’s words – they were going to have ‘a little talk.’

The Deputy Lead Auror snorted derisively. In his experience, ‘little talks’ never meant anything good.

Little talks meant Robards telling him to calm his Gryffindor recklessness. They meant the Healers at St Mungos telling him that his luck wouldn’t hold out forever. They meant Hermione complaining that she hadn’t seen him in an age. _Little talks_ only meant bad news, and Harry wasn’t an idiot. He knew the real reason that Draco had invited him over for dinner.

His boyfriend – of over a year, no less! – was going to leave him.

Harry shook his head, trying to stop the swirl of his thoughts dancing around in his mind but that didn’t help him a Sickle. Draco was going to wine him, dine him and then he was going to tell him to fuck off. No doubt he’d dress up his excuses; use some of those fancy words that always sounded so fantastic coming out of Draco’s plush, aristocratic lips. No doubt Draco would make their split seem terribly reasonable and sensible.

None of that would matter though. Harry knew he’d be left heartbroken. For some irrational, bizarre reason he loved Draco. Loved the very bones of the wizard. Good Godric, Harry felt heartbroken already and right now – five-fifteen pm – they were still officially an item.

Harry looked down as the elegantly quilled words written in the file in front of him. The words swam on the parchment and Harry shoved the folder closed. He must have done in it more of a temper than he’d realised, because his mug tipped over and the last dregs of his coffee spilled, staining the case notes. He watched the coffee wicking its way through the parchment, smudging and spreading the ink, but his head was a million miles away.

If he were being candid with himself, Harry had known this ‘little talk’ was coming.

Draco moods had been shocking for weeks. He had always been a little temperamental – that was just the way Draco was made – but it felt like nothing Harry did satisfied the blond wizard any longer. When Harry had turned up at Artemisia Lane, a big bunch of flowers clutched in his hand, Draco had wrinkled his brow and complained the scent of them gave him a migraine. When Harry had casually mentioned his upcoming Quidditch trip to France – he, Ron and Oliver went every year – Draco had hit the roof. He’d accused Harry of preferring his mates to him. It was an out-and-out nonsense, but they’d had a horrible quarrel. The two of them had even gone to bed without making up, which had been a very unusual and unpleasant state of affairs.

Now Draco and he were having a ‘little talk.” Draco was breaking up with him. With a dismal huff, Harry cleaned away the coffee stain with a _Scougify_. He closed the file and slouched back into his chair. It was already five-twenty-six pm. He knew he ought to _Accio_ his coat and make his way to the exit. He didn’t want to, though.

Harry wanted to prolong the inevitable for as long as he possibly could.

The thing was, Harry wasn’t the oblivious prat that his mates sometimes joked he was. He knew just how good he had it with Draco; he knew how well they suited each other. The enmity that’d they’d shared as children had melted away to become a sensual, passionate love affair. Harry knew that Draco was his every fantasy made flesh. Their lovemaking was incredible and the two of them fit together like they’d designed solely for each other’s pleasure.

Harry quirked a half-smile. He was still every bit as besotted with Draco now as he’d been on their very first date, when every idea of propriety that he’d held had vanished more swiftly than a charm. The two of them had side-alonged to Artemisia Lane, where they’d torn away each other’s clothes impatiently, their mouths meeting for impassioned, hungry kisses.

Images of their lascivious first date flickered through Harry’s head. His and Draco’s love affair had been heated from the start but it hadn't taken long to flourish into something far bigger than just sex.

Somewhere along the line Harry had caught feelings for the blond wizard. Draco was witty, challenging and engaging. Even more surprising had been how much the two of them had shared in common with each other. Hours had passed in the blink of an eye while they had done nothing but talk, setting the world to rights about every subject under the Sun.

But, best of all, Draco hadn’t been awed by him. Draco hadn’t cared about the legend, the statues or the deifying _Prophet_ headlines. Unlike every other man that Harry had been involved with, Draco had wanted him for the wizard he truly was. Draco had loved the person behind the headlines.

“I’d had enough of the glittering git back at school,” Draco always joked. “I prefer Harry Potter, who snores when he’s pissed and spills crumbs all over his belly. That’s the wizard I fancy,” he’d grin, flirtatiously. “ _He’s_ gorgeous.”

Gods, but that remembrance stung! Harry’s eyes drifted back up to the clock. It was five pm. It was high time to leave the office. Harry tapped the ink from the nib of his favourite quill, and placed it in his desk drawer. He tried not to look at the velvet box nestled beside it. Inside was the goblin gold engagement ring that Harry had planned to give to Draco on his birthday in only two weeks’ time. That’d been the plan anyway, before Draco had asked for this ‘little talk’.

Harry vehemently shoved the desk draw shut and nearly toppled his coffee mug over once more. He’d been such a bloody _idiot_ for not grasping that, one day, Draco would see how much better he could do.

It wasn’t like all the sighs hadn’t been there, as blaring and loud as a Wheezes firework. Their ardent, enthusiastic lovemaking had died a sudden death during the last few weeks. The only between-the-sheets activity that Draco seemed attracted to was slumbering; every night the blond wizard had fallen fast asleep the moment his head had hit the pillow.

Then there’d been the surprise date that Harry had planned for them both. He’d Apparated them both up to St. Andrews, and to Draco’s favourite French restaurant, purely because he loved the man so much. The whole night had been an unmitigated disaster. Draco had scarcely touched his Sole Meuniere and then he’d pushed his glass of Sauvignon blanc away without so much as a sip.

Harry bit his lip, thinking back over the evening. Draco had been out of sorts from the very first minute they’d arrived; silent, pale and listless. His boyfriend had pushed his food around sullenly and then vanished to the toilet for an absurdly long time. When he’d gotten back to the table, Draco’s eyes had been red-rimmed and he’d demanded that they go home without dessert. They’d rowed when they’d arrived home and Harry cringed, remembering how he’d childishly flounced back to Grimmauld Place.

He’d regretted his actions terribly – Harry didn’t normally storm off, but he’d just been so _disappointed_ – and so he’d tried his best to make it up to Draco the following day. He’d brought his boyfriend a selection of the sushi that he was so addicted to, and taken it to the art gallery that Draco co-owned with Pansy Parkinson.

It’d been another Harry-catastrophe of epic magnitude. Draco hadn’t been able to hide his barefaced repugnance at seeing the poor Japanese lunch. Pansy had dispatched the offensive food with a quick spell – Draco had dashed to the loo – and then the witch had dispatched Harry with a contemptuous glare. “How you managed to save the wizarding world I’ll never know,” Pans had snapped as she showed him the door. “You’re the most oblivious wizard that ever existed!”

Harry hadn’t understood Pansy’s words, but that was Slytherins all over. They’d defend each other to the death and Harry had been left as much in the dark as ever. None of the usual excuses had fitted Draco’s current low moods. His boyfriend wasn’t exhausted by work; he adored his art gallery and Draco was popular and well-loved among their friends. They were prosperous and they both had their health. Really, their lives were idyllic.

Undeterred in his mission of romance, Harry had ventured into Muggle London the same afternoon. Draco might be off fish dishes – he must have a dicky tummy! – but one thing that Draco would never tire of was fancy, designer clothes.

Harry had spied his beloved looking at a Vivienne Westwood jumper only a few nights before and he’d even left the fashion magazine open on the page. It hadn’t been too much trouble for Harry to find the boutique in Covent Garden and he hadn’t baulked at spending a half-month’s wages on the fluffy, fitted turquoise creation. The shop assistant had smiled when Harry had told her it was a surprise for his boyfriend. “I’m sure he’ll love it,” she’d said, wrapping the jumper in tissue paper and placing it in a bag. “Your partner is a lucky chap.”

Draco hadn’t appeared to love it though. He hadn’t offered to try the jumper on, or ever seemed all that thrilled by it. Harry – lounging on the bed – had watched Draco hang it up in his wardrobe with a wry, thoughtful look on his face. His only thankyou had been a passionless peck on the cheek. Harry still felt upset by Draco’s offhand reaction. They were supposed to be a couple, supposed be _lovers_ , but Harry had felt shut out and rejected.

Merlin. How had it gotten to five-forty pm? Draco would be sat at in the Lounge of Artemisia Lane now, waiting to feed up Harry and have their little talk. Harry played with a loose cotton on his cuffs as he imagined how Draco might start the conversation. He’d be solicitous and polite as he splintered Harry’s heart into a million pieces.

Harry had contemplated asking Draco directly what was wrong, but the truth was he was scared of the answer. Making a small, contemptuous noise Harry snapped off the loose thread. He was a Gryffindor. He was supposed to be courageous. Harry’s nerves had failed him over Draco though. Even in his mind’s eye, he could imagine how their conversation would transpire.

 _“Draco,”_ he’d say, _“we need to have a little talk.”_

 _“We certainly do,”_ Draco would reply, his grey eyes flashing haughtily. _“I’m leaving you. You’ve got the intellectual capacity of a teaspoon, Potter. I’ve found love with Richards in the Wizengamot Records Office – you remember, the one who sent me that ‘Be my Keeper?’ Valentine card? – he’s swept me off my feet…”_

Harry tried to shoo these ridiculous thoughts from sweeping through him and he failed spectacularly. He loved Draco and he couldn’t understand what had changed between the pair of them. He was tormented by jealousy.

Harry dropped his head onto the mahogany of his desk and knotted his fingers through his disheveled mane.

Draco was the only one who’d ever seen him and who had wanted him simply for himself. Harry growled angrily, tugging his hair hard at the root. Traitorous tears threatened to spill onto the scratched wood. Why had he ever believed that things might be different for him? Harry knew he was supposed to be a great hero – a leader, brave and bold – but part of him was still that little orphan boy, locked in a cupboard under the stairs. He’s been denied his Mum and Dad, denied Sirius and denied the reckless freedom of his youth. Why had he even imagined he’d get his happy ending with Draco?

Taking a deep, faltering breath, Harry thought about their lives together. Draco had been everything he’d desired.

Harry was the first to admit that he’d been in a grey place when Draco and he had first reconnected. He’d been slipping quickly towards becoming a workaholic, unable to let his cases go for even a weekend. That, combined with drinking just a dash too much and a diet of takeaways had become a recipe for misery. Draco had given him back his joie de vivre. He’d given Harry back his happiness.

Moreover – and Harry was a little reluctant to admit this part – Draco had been the steadying force that Harry hadn’t known he’d needed. His boyfriend’s loving interference had got Harry out jogging again, got him eating his vegetables and even got him buying fashionable new clothes.

With Draco beside him, Harry had become the very best wizard he could possibly be.

Draco had opened Harry’s mind in a way nobody else every had. Draco had been aghast when he’d discovered that Harry hadn’t ever been abroad and – like a crup with a bone – he’d set about showing Harry all the places in the world that were precious to him. The two of them had sipped wine in an expensive wizard restaurant above the Seine, wrapped in a bubble of audacious new love, and Harry had felt like Draco and he were the only two wizards on the face of the Earth. They’d explored the piazzas of Venice, their fingers entwined. They’d stood under cherry blossoms in Japan and swam in warm Mediterranean seas. Draco had shown Harry how big the world was; and how magnificent it could be, were he only to open his heart to it all.

Propping up his head, Harry looked at the clock with bleary eyes. Five-fifty-one pm. Draco would be getting impatient by now. He’d probably have cast a couple of _Tempus_ spells and perhaps have set their dinner under a stasis spell.

Perhaps Draco had itchy feet? They hadn’t travelled anywhere new in several months. Was his boyfriend bored? Harry furrowed his brow, considering the last few months. The last time they’d been out of London had been eight or so weeks before.

They’d visited Theo Nott’s brother’s place, down in Weymouth. They’d had a fabulous time – really let their hair down – but Dorset wasn’t the most glamorous place in existence. Was his boyfriend bored? Should he book some surprise jaunt to someplace exotic? No, Harry decided vehemently. It wasn’t travelling, or the lack of it that was causing the issues between them both. Thinking back, Harry realised that it had been Draco himself who’d deftly avoided a conversation about booking a late-summer Portkey to some adventurous location. “I’m not convinced that I’ll really be up for climbing mountains,” Draco had said enigmatically, closing down the subject completely. “I’d like to stay close to home,” he’d added quickly, “and just enjoy each other’s company for a while.”

Harry simply couldn’t understand what he’d done wrong. He’d worked hard to better his relationship with Narcissa. He’d tried his best with Draco’s friends, even though some of them still didn’t quite trust him. He’d spoilt Draco at every opportunity. He’d brought him the Elven-made pasties he enjoyed and the books that he had waiting for him at Flourish and Blotts. He’d made Draco his tea each night, adding just a splash of milk, exactly the way he liked it. Harry had rubbed Draco’s feet, and he’d washed Draco’s hair and he’d loved him.

He’d _loved_ him.

Harry had loved Draco more than he’d thought himself capable of.

It was six pm. Harry had wasted over an hour sat at his desk, worrying about what Draco was going to say to him. He stood and, with a flick of his wand, summonsed his coat. His boyfriend wanted to have a ‘little talk’ with him and Harry knew that he’d avoided leaving the office for long enough.

Whatever Draco needed to say, Harry knew it was finally time to listen to him.

~~

Draco was waiting on the settee when Harry stepped out of the Floo.

The dark-haired wizard could tell straightaway that Draco was very angry, and he supposed that his boyfriend’s exasperation was entirely reasonable. Harry had been due to arrive at Artemisia Lane over an hour before.

Scents of roast beef and chocolate pudding filled the air, as well as the sweet perfume of vanilla candles that were gathered on a dais above the fireplace. Harry felt his heart clench. Everything about Draco’s home was warm and domestic. The two of them had been happy here. They’d shared fantastic times.

Harry met Draco’s stony stare and Harry watched as he threw his book to the ground with a dismissive huff. He learned forward; his lithe fingers white as they splayed across his knees. This was a Draco set to dueling mode, and Harry could feel the hiss of his spiky magic bristling against his skin. Harry swallowed, suddenly tongue-tied. How did one go about ending the most significant love affair of your life?

“Draco,” he managed, after a couple of beats. “I’m sorry… I’m late. The office–”

Harry’s bumbling excuses worked only to flare Draco into life. “You’re sorry you’re late?” Draco exploded, jumping to his feet. His grey eyes flashed with irritation and he stepped forward, shaking his head mockingly. Harry couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen Draco’s dander up like it was. “ _I’m_ the one that’s sorry you’re late, Harry Potter! Slaving away in my bloody kitchen like a sodding House Elf! Not using magic because you prefer the taste of Muggle cooked foods! My mates always said I was a blithering idiot for falling in love with you. It seems they were right!”

Harry felt his own exasperation begin to rise alongside his telling-off. Why was Draco acting so terribly miffed? What did it matter to the blond wizard whether the steaks were burnt to a charred and charcoaled mess? He surely intended to have his ‘little talk’ with Harry whatever their dinner looked like.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Harry replied, hating how sarcastic he sounded but not really able to help himself. “I expect the fine-dining was an attempt to make me receive your decision with the minimum of fuss! You wanted to coerce me into acceptance with steak and vegetables–”

“What are you whittering about?” Draco cut in; his voice as cold as ice in the depths of winter. “You’re an odd person Harry Potter. You appear to be chastising _me_ , for making your most beloved dinner? I told you that tonight was important!”

Abruptly, Draco turned tail and strode into the kitchen. Harry didn’t feel like he had any choice but to follow him. He watched as Draco _Accio’ed_ a glass and filled it with cold water from the tap. His lover took a couple of gulps before he spoke again. Some of the abrupt rage had left Draco’s features but he still seemed wounded. This wasn’t at all how Harry had imagined their evening playing out.

“I’ve spent two hours in here this afternoon,” Draco continued, gesticulating around the room. “Chopping onions, scraping ruddy carrots and sieving gravy like a prize prat. Then I sat, waiting like an idiot for you to step through my Floo. The candles have burnt down to stumps and I had to stasis our whole meal. You’re too much, Harry!”

Harry didn’t understand Draco's reaction at all. “ _I’m_ too much?” he cried out. “You’re the one who deemed it appropriate to drag me over to Artemisia Lane like this, you sneaky bloody Slytherin! You wanted to soften me up, didn’t you? Feed me up before you pulled out your sharpest hexes to cut me as deeply as you could! I reckon you’ve only had me over tonight to point out how ill-judged I’ve been in falling in love with you! I’m not the oblivious fool you’ve got me pegged for, Draco Malfoy! Don’t think I haven’t seen all the signs!”

Draco folded his arms across his chest. His nostrils flared and his handsome face was little more than a snarl. Out of nowhere, Harry realised that Draco was wearing the Vivienne Westwood jumper he'd brought. The turquoise was an attractive colour on him and the woolen material fitted him handsomely. Feeling his heart twist, Harry wondered whether Draco’s sartorial choice had been some kind final snub, worn only to shatter his heart into even more pieces.

“Ahh,” Draco sneered, his tone unsympathetic. “It seems _someone_ is still the same imprudent, impulsive Gryffindor that he always was, running into situations without even a second of actual contemplation or thoughtfulness! You don’t ever change, do you Harry?” Draco stuck out his pointy chin with a petulant pout. “If you were capable of even one degree of introspection then I think you’d have been able to figure out what our ‘little talk’ tonight might actually be about!”

Hurt diffused through Harry’s belly. How dare Draco say he lacked introspection or thoughtfulness! He’d done nothing but put Draco on a pedestal and his boyfriend had done nothing but throw it back in his face.

“Do tell!” Harry shouted back, his voice resounding in the Artemisia Lane kitchen. He didn’t feel like he had a choice. He had to defend himself with the thin sliver of dignity that he had remaining. “I beg of you Draco, tell me all! I’d love to know what our ‘little talk’ was going to be about! Maybe you were going to talk about how you’re refused my flowers the other day – telling me that the scent gave you a headache! – or perhaps how you’ve decided to explain why you didn’t want me visiting France with Ron and Oliver. Gods, but you got yourself in a right foul snit over that! Still,” Harry said, working himself up into a righteous fury, “that’s Draco bloody Malfoy all over! You were a foul git when you were fifteen and you’re a foul git now. I think you’re the one who hasn’t changed a Sickle!”

Harry felt the air leave the room and he immediately knew that he’d most royally fucked up. Draco hated to be reminded of their tempestuous childhood relationship and the bully that he’d been as a boy. He’d worked really hard become a better, more open-minded wizard and grow as a person.

Harry didn’t need to be told that his words had been a low blow. All the colour drained from Draco’s face and his grey eyes glowered. His boyfriend’s expression was unreadable. Harry wondered for a moment whether an _Expelliarmus_ would be a prudent idea. His boyfriend’s wand was excellent at shooting hexes and he really didn’t fancy the nauseating effects of a Jelly- Legs Jinx.

Draco stepped forward and closed the space between them.

“Pansy was right about you,” Draco spat out, his words breaking on the last sound. “You really are as blind as those stupid glasses of yours make you look! If you had even the first _clue_ as to what I’d planned to tell you then you’d feel like the most foolish wizard in the whole of England!” He huffed, wiping an imaginary speck of water away from the base of his empty glass. “As it is, I think that title belongs to me.” Draco’s face fell, and then he dropped down dispiritedly into a chair. All his fury seemed to leave him. “I’d so idiotically imagined that this would be one of the best nights of my whole life!”

Harry felt dumfounded. Their conversation had veered so drastically off course that he had no understanding of what Draco was trying to say. He might as well have slipped into French for all the sense he was currently making.

“What are you talking about?” Harry asked. “The best night of your blasted _life?_ Forgive me for being confused, but things haven’t been oh-so-wonderful between the pair of us recently, have they? Just get on with the business of leaving me, Draco, and finish it. Stop picking at the scar of our love affair. I won’t darken your door again! I’ll send Ron to anything I’ve left behind.”

His heart racing, and the adrenaline of making such an extreme pronouncement still coursing through his veins, Harry pulled out his wand, ready to Apparate away and be done with it all.

To Harry’s tremendous surprise, Draco looked baffled.

“Leaving you?” Draco repeated. “What on earth are you talking about? Harry, I _think_ –”

“I’ll tell you what I think!” Harry managed. “I think that I love you! I think that you’ve been the best thing that’s ever happened to me! I think that I’ve spent the last hour dreading coming here, because I couldn’t bear for you to leave me. I’ve been sat at my desk, thinking long and hard about what it was I did to drive you away and there’s nothing. Nothing! All I’ve ever done was to love you. You don’t want to holiday with me, yet you used to love it. You don’t want to eat lunch with me, yet you used to say that was the best part of your day.” Sitting down, Harry sought out his boyfriend’s face. Draco seemed calmer, somehow. His eyes had lost some of the stinging hurt they’d worn previously. Harry ploughed on, needing answers to the million questions percolating through his brain. “You made it clear in St. Andrews that you were having an awful time! Even buying you that jumper – which does look wonderful, by the way – felt like as stone-cold rejection! I’m at a loss, Draco. I need to know what’s changed between us.”

Draco was silent for a couple of beats before he spoke again. “Is that everything of your chest?” he asked, raising a perfect eyebrow in Harry’s direction. “Nothing else to add? You don’t want to mention my sudden repugnance for everything fish related or the fact that I’m suddenly far more interested in sleeping between the sheets that I am in shagging between them?”

Harry sighed. This wasn’t good news. Draco was acknowledging that things were indeed different. If he were saying the words aloud then that made them feel even more real.

“You’re right,” Draco admitted, his hand tentatively moving across the table. His fingers brushed over the material of Harry’s sleeve, light and skittish. “I _haven’t_ been the same in the last few weeks. I know that I’ve been moody and sensitive… well, I’ve been all over the place. Difficult be around.” He paused and Harry watched Draco slowly inhale a lungful of air. He wondered whether Draco was nervous. He wasn’t normally as reticent as this. “Ever since that damned trip to Dorset, really. Weymouth. That bloody holiday was where it all our fun began.”

“Weymouth?” Harry asked, feeling as thick and dense as cauldron lead. He had no idea what Draco was talking about. Harry felt Draco’s finger’s knit through his own and he shivered. It felt so lovely to feel his beloved’s unfretted affection once more. “I don’t follow.”

“Well, we got terribly drunk on that Muggle plonk? That awful red vino that gave us both such a headache?” Draco answered. “We weren’t as careful with the contraceptive charms as we normally are, Harry, and so we came back with a rather more permanent souvenir than either of us had planned for. I’m pregnant.” Draco unknotted his fingers from Harry’s and stood up. He walked around the kitchen table and wrapped his arms around Harry’s shoulders. He rested his head on Harry’s shoulder. “ _We_ are pregnant. In less than a year there be another small person in our lives.” He laughed then, a small delighted sound. “Not that I’m sure the world is entirely ready for a smaller version of ourselves.”

Harry was rendered speechless. He felt like he’d been hit by a muting spell for even though he opened his mouth, not a sound emerged. His whole world felt like it’d been rocked on its axis and blood raced through his ears. Lights danced at the edge of his vision. Of everything that he’d imagined Draco saying that evening, pregnant hadn’t been anywhere near the list. His heart hammed in his chest.

 _Pregnant_.

Draco and he were only twenty-three and they didn’t live together yet. This wasn’t what he’d expected their ‘little talk’ to be about at all.

“You’re not breaking up with me then?” Harry managed, feeling every bit like the most foolish wizard in the whole of England.

Draco kissed Harry on his cheek. “I’m really not,” Draco said, his voice sounding fond. “And there you were, hiding away behind your desk because you were frightened of what I was going to say. You’re such a daft git, Harry Potter. Why didn’t you talk to me?”

Unable to resist for even another second, Harry swung around and seized Draco around the waist. He nuzzled into the wooly fabric of Draco’s turquoise jumper, overjoyed at Draco’s warm solidity and proximity. They had a lot to discuss – and a lot to decide – but right now, all he wanted to do was hold his boyfriend close. “I didn’t want to hear to hear you say you were leaving me,” Harry muttered into the material. "Everything suddenly felt different and I got scared. I love you.”

“I’ve felt as sick as crup,” Draco explained. “The scent of those beautiful flowers. My Sole Meuniere in St. Andrews… Even the lovely sushi that you brought into the art gallery. Everything has been turning my stomach and sending me rushing to the lavatory. Merlin, whomever called it morning sickness was a bloody liar.” Draco gave Harry’s shoulders a small squeeze. “I only found out for sure yesterday, though I’ve had my suspicions for a while… That was why I seemed a little peculiar when you brought me this jumper. I was pretty sure I’d gotten myself in the family way and I was feeling delicate about it. So much is going to have to change. It feels a bit overwhelming. _Good_ -overwhelming but overwhelming nevertheless.”

“I can scarcely believe it,” Harry answered. “I’m going to be a dad?”

“If you want to be,” Draco answered. “I know it isn’t something that we’ve planned but sometimes life surprises you.”

With that, Harry stood. He tugged Draco close and kissed him with all the ardor that filled his heart. He wanted Draco to know how loved he was and how overjoyed he was that he was loved in return. Harry wanted Draco to know how much he already wanted the tiny new life that was growing inside of him. Harry found that he couldn’t let Draco go and he held him tight. Their lives together had already been the most magical part of his life. Now everything would be different again. His chest felt puffed up with air and his head was whirling with pride and excitement.

“I’m getting the impression that you’re pleased,” Draco whispered as he broke apart their embrace.

Harry couldn’t help but grin. “More than I know how to express,” Harry said honestly, holding Draco in his arms and pressing chaste kisses across his forehead “I’ve never felt happier. I can’t believe it. We’re going to be dads.”

“We are,” Draco replied. “It’s the greatest adventure of our lives.”

Harry’s existence, so dispirited and desolate only an hour before, felt suddenly optimistic and full of promise.

**Author's Note:**

> Mod note: Thank you for reading this work of the Domesticity Fest! Remember to send the author a nice comment and a lovely Kudo!
> 
> A/N: Thank you for reading xxxxx


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